Mulan Goes to Band Camp
by GometrudeLastly
Summary: Mulan takes her brother's place in the Cavaliers (all-male drum corps group) when he sprains his ankle. She discovers on the first day of the training camp that the drum major is kind of hot.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 2: That Back

I stood in the bathroom and stared at my mangled, blank hair. The scissors I had used to quickly cut it were thrown on the bathroom counter next to the black marker I had used to attempt to darken my eyebrows. This was my own parents' fault for telling my brother that his leg injury was bad enough that he wouldn't be able to go today. Still, the thought of the way his leg had grotesquely twisted when he'd managed to trip over a pair of my boots made me feel nauseous. I was the one who had to sit in the backseat with him on the way to the hospital trying really hard not to vomit in my lap—I have always had an extraordinarily weak stomach.

Awful, just awful, I thought looking at my hair and eyebrows. The hair was a sloppy mess. There was wads and wads of it in the sink. I'd managed to cut it just above the ears, but it was very uneven. My bangs were cut in a perfect straight line about half an inch above her eyebrows. Maybe no one would think anything of her hair; perhaps they would think that her mom had cut my hair poorly. I tried not to be overly concerned with my eyebrows that were now thick, dark lines across my face. I shook my head and left the bathroom.

I ran into my bedroom to grab my duffle bag and my lucky pink boots with the cows on them. I called them my "Moo Shoes." I walked past my brother's door next and I could hear him snoring in his sleep. Good, I hadn't woken him up yet with all of my cursing in the bathroom. My parents' bedroom was further down the hall. "So long, bitches," I whispered just outside of their door. Despite everything, I was feeling a little excited.

I left a note on the kitchen counter saying that my roommate needed me back on campus. It's a poor excuse, but my roommate was very needy so they weren't likely to think anything of it. I would be back when my brother was healed and could take my place instead. I remembered how excited my brother had been when he'd gotten the acceptance from the Cavaliers Drum Corps group. Since he was almost twenty-one, this summer would be his last chance to march as a member of DCI. The Cavaliers were one of two all-male groups, so not only would I have to remember everything from high school marching band, I would also have to pretend to be a twenty-year-old boy. I made a loud, ferocious masculine-like noise in my throat that I though sounded like a bear and marched out to my car. If I was going to be a boy, I had to learn how to act like one.

Three hours later, I parked my car in the high school parking lot of Rosemont, Illinois where I would be spending the next three weeks of my life. I practiced my deep, male voice one more time. "My name is Kyle Farnsworth. I am a boy, just like you. My name is not Mulan because I am not a girl. Obviously." I removed the trumpet case out of my trunk. I had never played mellophone before, but I knew that it would look suspicious if I mysteriously showed up with a trumpet. How hard could mellophone be hard to learn? Trumpet and mellophone fingerings were similar enough. I looked down at my Moo Shoes and smiled. Time to walk like a boy: I spread my legs wide apart, held my chin up, and threw my shoulders back, and performed my very best man-strut. I am totally ready.

I may not stand out as much as I originally though because some of the boys were really weird. Like really, really weird. Maybe it's because I haven't been associated with marching band in any way since my senior year of high school that I'd completely forgotten what the typical male marcher was like. There were whole bunch of boys standing in a circle playing some sort of ridiculous game and a few were sword-fighting. Most of the others were playing their instruments as loudly as possible (I'm looking at you trumpets), about ten boys were stretching and making jokes about their flexibility (no idea why), and a few scattered around were showing off how much of their show drill they already had memorized. Whoopsies. I haven't even looked at the thick packet of drill and music yet.

I did my best to ignore the panic. Instead, I decided that I needed to blend in. "Yeah, band!" I screamed that over and over again, and I ran over to my cot in the corner of the gym floor. I turned back around when I got there, proud of myself for coming out of my shell so early in the marching season. I noticed that a lot of boys were staring at me. Others were cheering along with me, apparently just as desperate to fit in.

After a welcome message from the band director, I journeyed into the boys' bathroom. I had never been inside one of those before; I don't know exactly what I had expected. I grimaced in the direction of the urinals and dashed into one of the stalls, instead. After doing my business, I grabbed my toiletries and went into the showers. Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope. I walked back out of the showers. The locker room showers didn't have stalls! All the boys with ALL of their boy parts dangling about (icky, icky!) were standing and showering together like animals. My face burned and was probably very red as I dashed out of there as quickly as possible. I never, ever need to see a naked boy again. Not ever.

"Hey, I'm Lee. This is Chad and John. What's your name," the extremely skinny boy whose cot was next to mine asked. I looked over at Chad (very large and tall with soft features and dimples when he smiled) and John (short, angry, and red-faced). Pleasant.

"Kyle," I replied, showing off my deep man voice and my perfect male social skills. I can reply in one-word sentences. Look at me.

I talked to Chad and Lee for a couple of minutes until Chad announced that he was very tired after practicing drill all day. I heard Lee and John agree. Am I the only one who hasn't practiced drill? I suck. As John (the one with the permanent frown) walked away, I heard him say to Lee "Do you think his mom still does his hair?" Ass hat. He was most definitely talking about my horrendous hair-cut.

I rolled out of bed in the morning…to a completely empty gymnasium. "Shit!" I looked at my Moo Shoes, they were totally judging me. I was late. How could I have possibly slept through the wake-up announcement! I put on a Cavaliers marching uniform (now I look official!) and I hurried onto the field. I was the only one in my uniform. I was mortified! Boys started to whisper all around me, but no one yelled at me. We were herded onto the practice field for basic marching technique practice before we started setting drill later on. A lot of the boys had gotten up even before them to go for a run. My brother had spent the last four months getting into shape.

My brother had been right. One of the marching directors, a man who resembled a mouse with a very thin mustache, ordered them to run six laps around the track for a warm-up. I was not capable of running even one lap without choking for air. Fortunately, Chad seemed to be in even worse condition than me so I walked the rest of the five laps with him. The other boys were already finished stretching when Chad and me were finally done. We received some disapproving glares and muttering, but no one said anything directly to them. Every inch of my body was drenched in sweat and soaking into the wool of the uniform. Boys stared at me, at the stupid dork in the $800 Cavaliers uniform that I had just destroyed with my sweat.

"Time for basics. I need everyone to line up in a line by section and march forward two lines to this tempo," the director called out to us. He instructed the drum major to clap a quick tempo for them. A super duper fast tempo. I couldn't imagine my feet marching along at that speed. I was wobbly on my feet, even just for forward marching. I missed the line and I was definitely out of step. "Roll through your steps! I thought you lot were professionals!"

"If you make mess-up, do ten push-ups!" I looked over to see who had spoken to see it was our section leader. A wave of curses spread through the air from the trumpet players as almost all of them got down and gave ten push-ups. I hadn't even noticed any of the others making mistakes, but they were still giving push-ups anyway. They were all done before I realized that I probably should have done push-ups as well. "You! Give me twenty push-ups," our section leader said to me. I guess I stick out like a sore thumb in my bright green uniform. To spite the section lead, I only gave seventeen push-ups. Take that, section leader.

It became increasingly more and more obvious to me that I wasn't even marching in the same style as the others. It seemed that the Cavaliers had a very specific marching style, one that I had not learned in high school. It was more of a high-knee march that everyone else had already mastered except for me. By mid-morning we'd marching forward and backwards countless times. The mouse-like man with the thin mustache had approached me before they'd started marching backwards. "We need to find you a cone to put over your head so that you'll stop looking at the ground when you march. Don't let me catch you doing that again." And he wasn't the only one yelling at me. Everyone wanted to yell at the awkward boy with the weird hair in the bright green uniform.

I'd managed to stay on my feet through out, but I had to sit out during the sliding basics because I almost fainted. First, my vision had started getting blurry and my stomach had suddenly felt very light, and then heavy. Brown spots made it impossible to see the ground. I wandered over in the direction of the side lines and plopped down next to my water bottle.

No one said anything to me. I watched everyone else do the slides. The band director and marching directors went around and corrected anyone who weren't doing it correctly. A lot of people had to do push-ups. Slides were always my least favorite thing to do high school. You had to turn your body, facing the stands, while your feet marched in a different direction. It was very uncomfortable. I always cheated in high school by turning my instrument towards the stands even though my shoulders were never completely turned.

We had a ten minute break where we could drink water and have a quick snack before moving onto setting drill. I grabbed my thick-packet of drill sheets all packed into a folder. I picked myself out on each one and circled Tr-13 or trumpet 13 so that I could easily find my spot. "I want everyone to sprint to their spots each time," my section-leader had wandered over to where the trumpets gathered. "The trumpets will be the first section back to their spots each time!" My section-leader does a lot of shouting.

I struggled to find my spot on the field, at first, for set number one. "You will be marching from set one to set two," I heard the band director say from the side-lines. All three of the drum majors jumped up onto their podiums. The lead drum major called everyone to attention. It was difficult to see him from this far back, but I could make out his outline, silhouetted against the sun. I baked in the sun inside of the thick wool of the uniform. A lot of the boys gave war cries and then ripped their shirts off. Unfortunately, two prominent parts of my anatomy prevented me from doing the same. Curses. I looked around at the lanky, boney bodies of the boys around me.

We marched from set to set all morning. This was turning into the longest day of my life and it was not even lunch yet. After doing set 1-5 all in a row, the band director finally gave us thirty minutes off for lunch. Everyone was already very buddy-buddy and they wandered off into the cafeteria. I hadn't yet made any friends so I ate at a table with the thirteen-year-olds.

That afternoon, we put music to drill. I didn't know the music yet like everyone else, and I had been thinking of when I could learn it on my own before anyone realized the problem. They played the music for the first 10 sets while I pretended to know what I was doing. I was shocked to discover that everyone seemed to know there music already. I remembered that in high school we spent a month and a half learning the music and setting drill before putting it together. They were already having us do that on the first day. We were then instructed to march and play. Uh-oh. Not happening. Silly people.

The drum major, Shang, as he was introduced counted us off and we started. The first five sets went okay. I only missed one of the marks. I knew that my posture and technique were terrible, but I could figure that out on my own time. I was watching the drum major instead of looking at the ground like a good little marcher when I found myself staring a bit too closely at him. He'd removed his shirt in the summer heat like a lot of the boys, but he wasn't lanky like them. His body was muscled like a gorgeous Greek god. I tripped over my feet and felt myself fall.

The rest of the trumpets behind me toppled over my body and came crashing down on top of me. I could hear frustrated shouts from the rest of the band, and the rest of the trumpets announcing that it wasn't their fault. I felt the weight on top of me subside as the other boys were pulled off of me one by one and dusted off. I looked up from underneath my arm into Shang's face. He'd wandered over to yell at me, probably. He was of Asian descent, like me, with dark eyes and a very solid, perfect jaw. Perfectly square. He was looking very angry at me, but that, honestly, just made him look even more perfect. His dark eyebrows were pulled in sharply over his eyes. I felt my eyes wander down to his flawless, perfect torso. The sweat glistened off of his bare chest and his muscles rippled underneath his arms. My jaw dropped open. Hello beautiful!

"I won't allow anyone to march who isn't going to take this seriously," Shang said lowly so that only the trumpets nearby could hear. Great voice, sexy Shang. His voice was smooth and deep and perfect. Shang was perfect. Perfect in every possible way.

"S-S-S-Sorry," I stuttered. My mind wasn't capable of thinking right now. The only sound was my inner voice screaming. Hot man alert, hot man alert, hot man alert. My heart thumped in my chest and I could feel my face burn bright red. In all of the hot, male excitement, I had failed to respond in my sexy, deep male voice.

"What's your name?" Shang raised one thick eyebrow at me.

He's really good at raising his eyebrows. Such control over his body. Good Shang, fine Shang, hot Shang. I stared. I had just noticed his lips, and I didn't notice the question. "What?"

"What's your name," this time he said it a lot louder. His perfectly smooth voice was gruffer now, but still just as perfect. Such a good voice…

I had just noticed a single drop of sweat travel from his sharp jaw down his thick neck, across his pecks, further and further down, down his stomach….until it disappeared behind the waistband of his shorts. I blushed furiously. I would like to formally apologize for ogling at my drum major's nether regions. "Ping!" I don't know why I said that. Ping is not a name. The powerful man's voice that I had been working to attain came out as more of a squeak.

"Ping? What's your name?" He looked around as though asking the band director to come over and help him. I could see his frustration. First day on the job, and already, he has to deal with me, the problem student. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Shang, I am sorry.

"That's not my name. I have a name, and it's a boy's name too." I said some other things too that were a product of my rambling. His perfect body made me forget a lot of things.

"Are you being serious? You have one more chance or else you're out."

I didn't think a drum major honestly had that power, but I still took him very seriously. There wasn't much worse than the drum major hating you…especially a sex god hating you. "Kyle. My name is Kyle Farnsworth." I said this in my best voice. I wandered if the perfect male specimen thought I had a good man's voice.

"Farnsworth? Aren't you Zhou Farnsworth's son?" My father was one of the members of the Cavaliers back in the seventies.

"I remember your audition tape. You were impressive." The band director had wandered over, and he clapped Shang on the shoulder. "I'll talk to you later," he said to me, giving me a wink. What?

Shang turned around, relieved that he was done talking to me, probably. The band director started talking to my father about me, but I wasn't hearing him. Shang's back was flawless. It glistened with sweat. The muscles of his shoulders and lower back moved underneath his skin as he walked. For whatever reason, I imagined my teeth sinking into his back like it was a perfect, rare steak. That back. That back. That back.


	2. Chapter 2

I followed the rest of the sweaty, lanky gentlemen back into the gymnasium. I walked over to my empty cot and gave a small smile down at my Moo Shoes. I decided that I should probably hide them, so I grabbed them up in my arms and quickly attempted to stash them in my duffle bag. "What the Hell is that?"

I froze and felt myself grow deep, deep red. No, no, no. I put what I thought was probably a coy grin on my face and turned in the direction of the voice. It was that meanie-faced John. He looked especially amused. Looking at him now, I could see that he wasn't very old, probably still in high school. I could out-play a high schooler. I put on my best confident, cool-dude look, but then my words just tumbled out of my mouth before I could control them. "These are my Moo Shoes; they're my really, really cool boots. I love them very, very much..." I'll admit, I don't actually know what I said as the words continued to leave my mouth. John seemed to become more and more amused the more I continued to speak. He finally let out a huge sigh and walked away with a grin on his face. Silly, silly Ping.

The reason for my pathetic rambling was the result of Shang, who had just walked in from the showers. The showers…. I felt myself grow red again. His dark hair had been shaken dry quickly with the towel that was now draped over his shoulder. His hair fell across his forehead in a gorgeous mess and the back stuck out straight from the back of his head. His deep green shirt was wet around the collar from the water dripping from his hair, along his sharp jaw bone and down his neck. He wore a pair of gray sweats as well that were just a tad too tight...if you get my drift. I forced my eyes to look down at the floor instead of at his lower torso region. I'm sorry, Shang, for being such a lecher. "Lights out, five minutes," Shang called out to all of us. His booming voice broke out over the entire room so that everyone grew very quiet.

"You, Ping." Shang sauntered over. I swear that he was even swaying his hips, making me feel even more flustered. "I don't want any more funny business happening in this band. What you did today was ridiculous. I don't care that your father was some big shot decades ago; if you don't catch-up, I'll have you kicked out." I have to admit that it took me a moment to realize that this sexy-head was talking to me. His dark brows were furrowed in deep lines over his eyes and his long arms that were rippled with cords of muscles were crossed lazily across his chest. His thin shirt was tight enough so that I could still see his abs through his shirt. "Look at me!" My eyes shot up into his, soaring over his tight chest muscles and tense neck. He had a slight stubble on his tan cheeks that I hadn't noticed before. Oooh. I let my eyes become quite captivated with it. Calm, calm, I am calm. I gave him a vacant smile. Ping isn't swooning.

He walked away. I will admit that my cursed eyes found their way south to his hindquarters. As I previously mentioned before, his gray sweatpants were just a tad too tight, so I did quite admire this view. All eyes were on me. I suppose I did deserve that; not only had I caused the entire trumpet section to trip over me—denting a few expensive instruments—I had also ruined a $600 uniform. It was not until dinner when dribbled a large amount of mustard onto the bibbers that I found that out that fun fact. I'm still not completely sure who has to pay for that.

I spent the next day hiding. I hid in the showers while the other boys went for a ridiculously long run around the high school campus. I hid among the other trumpet players while we were playing through the music and marching through all of the sets. One strange thing about this camp is that all of the boys seemed to be having a blast. They were making fast friends with each other and they seemed to enjoy all of the running around. The only person I occasionally talked to was Lee, the skinny boy whose sleeping bag was next to mine. Chad was my running partner because we had both agreed to take everything at a slow jog. He was the only person in this entire camp who seemed to be just as out of shape as good old Ping, with his grease-pen eyebrows and silly haircut.

Today, also started out a new tradition. We were supposed to go out onto the field and be tested to see how well we knew our drill. We were supposed to stand in our first sets and were then instructed to march through as many sets as we possibly could while still either playing or singing our parts. I elected to be one of the people who marched and sang the pieces, but I still managed to completely mess it up. We took turns by section, and the drum line went first and they of course did it flawlessly. They even threw in a couple of flairs that seemed a bit unnecessary, such as throwing their drum sticks back and forth and turning around in circles. One of the snare drums did a little dance during a hold and screamed something that can only be described as a war cry. Ridiculous. The rest of the sections were able to march through about twenty sets while singing along. I still have no idea when the boys find time to practice. I ran through just as many sets as they did yesterday and I was still only confident with going from set 1 to set 2.

I imagined some sort of Requiem—Berlioz, perhaps—as I walked out onto the other trumpets. I hummed the tuba part of Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique Movement 5 quietly to myself as I straightened my body into attention. I was a manly-man. I could do this!

Turns out…I could not actually do this. I blanked going from set 2 to set 3 and discovered from our not so forgiving section leader that I had been singing the wrong part throughout the entire piece. I looked at the rest of the band watching me. A few were pointing and laughing. I couldn't decide if they were remarking on my eyebrows today (I darkened them with a combination of grease pen and Sharpie!) or my pathetic marching attempt. I could see Shang sighing deeply as he massaged the back of his neck. It probably didn't help that anytime I saw Shang, I got a ridiculous grin on my face. This time, I broke out into hideous laughter, and I do mean hideous; I always sounded like a hyena when I laugh. By deepening my voice, the laugh was just obnoxious. I realized that I had probably just made a total ass out of Ping. I decided to put the blame on the Sex God I was just about to walk past. He mumbled something under his breath as I walked by him on my way back to the sidelines.

"You're not done yet," the section-leader (I still don't know his name) yanked on my arm so that I almost toppled back over into Shang...which I probably wouldn't have minded one bit. I managed to stay on my feet. Good, that would have been embarrassing. Shang nodded in the direction of the section-leader and I was instructed (rather forcefully) to return to the field and march the sets by myself while the rest of the band broke off into sectionals to work on marching basics and music independently. I watched the rest of the trumpets walk away and I felt a deep longing to be with them.

I turned back toward the section leader and Shang…never mind, I think I'd much rather be in this perfect gentleman's company. If only he didn't look so angry. The marching instructors and band director wouldn't be around until later this morning so I was completely alone with these two until the others arrived. "Go back onto the field and march through your sets," Shang spoke through gritted teeth. He crossed his arms again. His dark eyebrows (though not as dark and thick as mine) were in a frown, creating deep furrows between them. If I couldn't only just reach out and touch him, then maybe he would stop frowning (hmm…). I decided it would be best not to reach out and touch him.

I don't know how long they made me march through my sets until they finally started walking away together. I personally didn't think that I had done horribly, but the looks on Shang and the section leader's faces told a different story. I knew that it was a pretty big problem that I wasn't familiar with the music yet. I decided to follow them. I was worried that Ping was coming off as a bit of an ass hat. They probably thought I was mocking them or something with the way I wasn't prepared for any of this. I'm sorry, my sweet, sweet Shang. My love...

That afternoon, they made me stand on the sidelines with a set chart and a music stand and music. Shang did not look pleased that the band director was allowing me to stand on the sidelines and learn the music that way. I wished I didn't have to stand over here as well because watching the rest of the band stare at me was extremely embarrassing. Shang had said something rather rude to the band director. I can't exactly remember what he said, but it was when the band director had suggested that I be allowed to play on the sidelines. My mouth had popped up in a wide gape in surprise at what Shang had dared to say to the director. The band director put a hand on Shang's shoulder and Shang had quickly shrugged it off and walked away briskly, throwing his arms down in frustration. Awkward...

"Shang, he's my son. I don't know if you know that. He doesn't like people to think that he only got the head drum major position because I'm his father…" I had no idea the band director was his father. I watched Shang jump up onto the high podium and he called the band to attention.

That night, I became aware in my sleeping bag that I had not showered since I had left home. It took me awhile to realize that the sweaty middle school locker room smell was me. After three long days in the hot sun, I knew that I needed to take one. I quickly grabbed my toiletries and made my way toward the showers. It was the dead of the night so the shower was completely empty. I undressed and put my clothes as close to the communal shower as a I dared without the probability of them getting damp with water but close enough that I could grab them if boys came by.

The water was cool, but I didn't mind. I let the water run off of my hair and down my back. My grease pen and Sharpie eyebrows did not come off, but I decided that it would be a lot easier if they stayed on permanently. I was thoroughly enjoying my shower when I heard voices outside of the bathroom. Lots of voices in the hall. I quickly turned off the water and leapt towards my clothes, which of course landed in a puddle of water and became ridiculously soaked. I had only just managed to heave them on when a huge group of boys entered the bathroom. There was a lot of yelling, and I became really confused. I was also already getting uncomfortable in the clothes that felt a bit too tight from the moisture.

I decided that it would be best if I snuck out of the bathroom and made my way back towards my cot. I was confident that I had made it to the door without anyone noticing, when I was suddenly jerked into the middle of the circle that had been formed. The boys forming the circles were all wearing masks so that I couldn't make out who they were. I recognized some of the boys who had been shoved together in a group on the inside of the circle. They all seemed to be new this year, like me. Maybe this was some sort of initiation process? Or hazing? I felt myself grow very, very nervous at the concept of hazing. I was familiar with hazing, in theory, but it was not something I had ever been pushed to go through, fortunately. This is bad. Bad, very, very bad, indeed, I thought to myself.

Some of the boys looked excited, while others looked just as nervous as I did. The boys that were surrounding us were still screaming at us and singing some sort of song. Someone was flickering the lights on and off really, really fast, making everything seem very surreal. It was hard to imagine that we were still in a locker room right next to a high school gymnasium. The older boys started producing these sealed black bags and started shouting different orders at us. In the confusion, I'm not sure if any of us really knew what they were saying. I very much wanted to get out. I really didn't want to know what they were going to make us do next or find out what was in the sealed black bags.

Suddenly the lights were switched back on and all of the older boys scattered. Shang and another of the drum majors had walked into the locker room. I'd seen Shang angry at me, but I had never seen him like this. He seemed too angry to speak so the other drum major had to shout the orders, instead. Shang turned to my group, the group of boys who were cowering back in the corner. His expression calmed a bit when he saw his. His eyes passed over each of us, and his skin faded from an angry red to its usual tan. He took a deep breath and motioned for us to exit the bathroom. "I want each of you to go back to bed. I promise that nothing like this will happen again. If any of you have any idea of who was responsible of this, please let me or the other two drum majors know." For some reason, while I should have been freaking out by what just happened, I was swooning instead. I realized that my mouth had opened while he was speaking. Such a good voice. So smooth, just like his torso region.

I let the other boys walk out of the bathroom ahead of me because I still needed to grab the rest of my toiletries. Once I wasn't looking at Shang, I became shaken up again, but it helped to know that the boys had been just as freaked out about it as me. As I was leaving the locker room, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright," Shang asked, slightly out of breath.

I should have given him my reply before turning to look at him. He looked genuinely concerned when I saw him. Of course, he made it very difficult for me to form a coherent sentence. "What? No, I'm fine. I'm absolutely perfect. Nothing about what transpired affected me at all…" I'm fairly certain that I rattled on for a bit longer, but by this point, Shang was probably very accustomed to my constant rambling. He let me walK out first and I took three deep breaths on my way back before collapsing onto my cot. I tried very hard not to overthink what had happened. I knew that it was probably that Shang would have asked anyone of the others who had been included if they'd been alright afterwards. The only reason he had asked me was because I was the very last person out of the bathroom so he didn't have much of a choice. Instead, my brain decided to overthink the very brief conversation. By the morning, after a night of very little sleep, I had it planted in my head that Shang was deeply and secretly in love with me. True love!

My first though the next morning, as I walked out onto the field, was where was Shang? Where was the gorgeous drum major who had grabbed my shoulder last night? Perfect, flawless Shang. When we made it out onto the field, we were met with bleak news. The band director had had a heart attack in the night and wouldn't be able to return for the rest of season. I suddenly developed a tight knot in my stomach. I knew that the drum major was Shang's father. It certainly did explain his absence. Poor Shang! My poor love. I couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of me too. Stop. Stupid.

I wasn't allowed to participate in drill that day, since Shang wasn't there, but we didn't do a whole lot, anyway. No one was able to really focus on anything long, especially the two other drum majors who were closest to Shang and his father. It became pretty well known throughout the camp that day that the reason Shang was absent was because the drum major was his father.

Shang returned later on that evening. He seemed…different. Now, he seemed to get frustrated at everything, especially me. I'd seen him angry last night and at me numerous time, but he had never gotten angry for no apparent reason. Shang made a few marching tubas run six laps around the trap for goofing off before dinner. I didn't see him for the rest of the night. My love was upset!

The next day, I picked up a music stand so that I could stand on the sidelines again, but Shang wasn't having it. He ripped the music stand from my hand, "You're marching in drill today; if you make one mistake, you're out." Woah... I gulped as Shang turned around and started off toward the field really fast. I joined the group of boys who were carrying the podiums trying not to worry too much. He was just the drum major. What power did he have in kicking me out of the band? Apparently, a lot...

I personally thought I was doing a lot better today. I didn't miss too many of my sets, but I was still struggling with marching in step. I developed a strategy that I hadn't used since my freshman year of high school. It involved watching someone else's feet in order to keep in step. It wasn't an acceptable way of marching, since I had to look down at the ground. My chin and eyes were supposed to be pointed up above the horizon. I was focusing so much on the feet in front of me that I hadn't noticed that I was back marching right into the color guard. One of the flag boys angrily shoved me forward into one of my fellow trumpets before I could get whacked in the head by a flag or rifle. I was thankful for this because getting his in the head by a flag was not a pleasant experience. It was made even worse if you had a brass mouthpiece knocked into your front teeth.

Other than that and knocking over one of the large water coolers, I personally believed that the morning had gone by rather well. It wasn't until the early afternoon that things took a turn for the worse. They had us line up by section again and go out onto the field and play and sing through our sets. The other sections did a pretty decent job of marching through most of the first and second movements of the show at tempo. The trumpets were giving me side eyes; they all knew that I was the weak link.

I managed to miss the very first step off. The rest of the trumpets started off in line ahead of me. One of them seemed to notice me way back behind them and he instructed the others to stop. Shang and the other drum majors called the rest of the band off of the field…except for me. "You're going to march through the first twenty sets while singing along. If you can't, I want you gone," Shang shouted out to me. His flawless face did not look very pleasant right now. I face glowed a bright red at being called out in front of him. It was even worse for me after our very, very brief conversation last night. After it being ingrained in my brain that Shang was most definitely in love with me, it was very difficult to hear him yell at me. It felt like a personal attack.

I personally believe that I marched through the first six of my sets without incident, but I messed up on the singing as I marched onto set number seven. I was back marching at the time and I became very flustered, which resulted in me tripping over my feet and going down. I closed my eyes and laid on the ground for awhile. I had failed. I had to go home now. Shang would be disappointed.

When I opened my eyes, the trumpet section and Shang were standing over me. I won't go into too much detail about this because it kind of went by in a blur. Shang told me to go pack my things and to get out. I walked back to the gym accompanied by my section leader. He watched me as I packed up my belongings. I didn't have any shoes other than my now grass-stained tennis shoes so I put on my Moo Shoes. I said a quick goodbye and walked out to my car.

I knew that I couldn't just go home, so I went to a friend's house in the area, instead. Perhaps it was a good thing that I was pathetically in love with the drum major. The three days I spent at my friend's house consisted of eating large amounts of chocolate (I needed it to combat the heartbreak) and sleeping. My friend obliged in letting me live with him for a few days, even though I hadn't spoken to him much since our junior year of high school. But most importantly, I spent my days running through drill over and over and over again. At this point, I supposed that it was probably a good thing that I was pathetically infatuated with Shang because no sane person would attempt to get back into the Cavaliers after being kicked out.

It took me three days to be completely confident with running through the entire show. I still couldn't march and play super well, but I was able to play my part. That evening, I drove back to the camp and slept in my car. In the morning, I would be the first person out to the field, so that I could start running through my entire show while everyone watched. I'm not sure why I suddenly felt the need to be dramatic, but I had been completely embarrassed in front of these people.

I woke up, after being curled up in the front seat of my car all night, to a knot in my neck and a rock in my stomach. I was out in the field before dawn, and I sat down onto the damp grass on my first set and waited for everyone to arrive. As the boys started to gather for warm-ups, they started noticing me. I heard some of them asking, "What is he doing here?" and "Didn't he get kicked out?". As soon as Shang showed up and saw me, he let out an exasperated groan. Ass. I am so totally over him...not. I giggled. It had been three days since I had seen those muscles. "Go on and run your laps," Shang called out to the band. Almost everyone started running, except for about fifteen boys who stayed to watch me.

I began marching and singing. By set number ten, a grin broke out across my face, and I almost messed up my singing. I was able to recover and continue. As I finished the first movement, I was still marching at tempo and I had not missed a single step-off. Of course, marching to my own tempo without having to watch a drum major made it a lot easier to stay in step. I kept on marching through all five movements. As I neared the end, I swear that I could see a slight smile on Shang's face as I finished up.

When I was done, I gave a curt little bow because that seemed like something that Ping would do. No one clapped, but no one told me to get off the field and to get out of here. It was a little confusing because I wasn't sure if I was allowed to stay around. I walked over to the sidelines to take a long drink of water. I gave Shang a beaming smile that I imagined shown like the Sun. I had hoped that in my three days without him, I would be able to keep a level head when I was around him, but I could see now that that would be impossible.

And with that, I was permitted to be back in the band again.


End file.
